Suburban livin

It's bright and sunny in the midwest. I heard it's supposed to be 80 degrees today and I can believe it completely, but don't necessarily want it. (It's nice to be working in Fahrenheit again--because I can understand it. I know it by heart. Living in Celsius didn't become that much easier, but at least I had my handy mobile to translate everything for me.)

I'm sitting on my mom's balcony. All I can see are man made constructions, grass and some trees. I can hear the neighbors chatting, even above the music in my headphones, and the wavering of their voices gives away their age. (I'm wondering exactly how many more wrinkles they have since the last time I glimpsed them.) And there are a lot of wasps flying around the edge of the roof. So I'm not exactly sure why I'm sitting out here, beside the fact that I miss the sun and it is somewhere easy and comfortable to be.

We went to the grocery store yesterday and I couldn't make it the entire length of the chips & cookies aisle. I began my journey thinking that I could really go for some tortilla chips since it's been nearly a year since having quality tortilla chips, fresh or otherwise, and I just opened a can of vegetarian refried beans and a jar of salsa at home. I took a few paces, looking at all the chips to my right and just stopped. I had already seen so much and the aisle went on so much further. It was one of those instances in which the light at the end didn't exist. It was just junk food and more junk food. I had found it, the answer as to why Americans tend to be the fattest in all the world, and it is the chips and cookies aisle. Plus the rest of the grocery store. This wasn't even Meijers. No, not at all. It was simply a Farmer Jack's.

Later on, Kim came over and we headed to the park right next to the lake. That lake is endless. When you're over in Grosse Pointe, you can see Windsor, but in St. Clair Shores, it goes on forever and is the bluest of polluted blues.

We stopped at Red Robins for a bite to eat and I was again amazed at the fatness of Americans. Of course, we weren't exactly the best of the best since we were getting nachos (which used to be plentiful and amazing and beautiful at Red Robin's, but never again. Never again.) and a tower of artery-clogging onion rings, but that is beyond the point.

I miss the accents already. The accent of the waitress last night, all nose and most painful to listen to, made my skin crawl.

I mean, among the many things and the people that I miss, the accents are one. It is odd. Everything is odd. And I know it will just get stranger still. But being in a new locale is probably the best thing for now. Something completely new.

I still look at every dog and go, aw. I am hoping that the brother is still wanting a dog. A nice cute one. Something that can go running and hiking. But, for some reason, I think the allergies may hurt that.